


Love Blooms

by profdanglais



Series: Modern Misthaven [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, Lieutenant Killian Jones, Lieutenant Killian Jones/Princess Emma Swan, Meet-Cute, Modern Lieutenant Duckling, Prequel, Prequel and sequel, Princess Emma Swan, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Princess Emma and Lieutenant Killian Jones have been together for three years. They’re deeply in love and an engagement is imminent. There’s only one problem: His brother doesn’t know about them, and Killian isn’t sure how to tell him. So when Liam finds out by accident, all that’s left is for Emma and Killian to fill him in on the story of how they met.This is that story.(a prequel--and sequel--to Error 404: “Little” Brother Not Found)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: Modern Misthaven [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752649
Comments: 21
Kudos: 199





	Love Blooms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maria81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria81/gifts).



It should have worked, really. As risky plans go, it was a pretty solid one. It should absolutely have worked. 

Princess Emma was easily recognisable, of course. As the only royal child and heir to the throne she’d been photographed extensively all her life, and those photos disseminated throughout the kingdom. But they were always taken in controlled situations, with her hair carefully styled and her clothing precisely engineered to evoke a very specific image. Her parents made absolutely certain of that. 

After the attempted coup by the queen’s stepmother on the day of the princess’s birth, the king and queen had taken decisive action to protect their only child and to ensure that no one but trusted personnel had access to her. On the rare occasions when she left the expansive palace grounds, no paparazzi followed her and none of Misthaven’s citizens so much as snuck a sneaky pic with a cell phone. Emma was to have protection and privacy until she came of age and officially took on her royal duties. That was the deal her parents made with the press and the people, and they enforced it rigidly. 

It should have worked. Emma’s most recognisable feature—her long, bright gold hair—was dyed a temporary dirty blonde (her mother nearly cried) and her green eyes shielded by large glasses. Most days she pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore no makeup. She dressed in jeans and t-shirts, like any other college kid. It was a good plan. It should have worked. 

She hadn’t reckoned on Killian Jones. 

She’d known him for a few years, sort of. For several months of the summer she was sixteen while his brother served as a member of her personal guard, Killian had hovered around the edges of her world, thin and gawky and usually with his nose in a book. The one time they were introduced he’d gulped visibly and made an awkward bow, then got away as soon as he could. But not before he’d made an impression. 

She wasn’t sure what it was about him that caught her eye—possibly the way he seemed to be trying so hard not to catch it, or the size and variety of the books she saw him reading, or the way he would smirk and roll his eyes whenever he heard something he thought inane (which happened fairly frequently; polite conversation at court was not exactly scintillating). Possibly it was just those eyes, the bright, clear blue of them and the intelligence and humour she was sure she detected in their depths. Whatever it was it made butterflies dance in her belly whenever she saw him, and though they exchanged no more than a dozen words in the months he was at court she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head. 

“What does your brother do?” she’d asked Commander Jones one afternoon, as casually as she could. 

“He’s starting at the university in the autumn,” the commander replied, pride audible in his voice. “Going to study physics and engineering.” 

“Wow.” Emma wished she didn’t find that so impressive. 

“He’s a smart lad,” said Commander Jones with a grin. “He’ll change the world, mark my words.” 

Emma marked them, though she asked no further questions. It wouldn’t do to appear too interested. 

That was August. By October Killian Jones was gone from her life and so was his brother, the elder Jones off to serve on Misthaven’s flagship and the younger of course, to the university. And that really should have been the end of it. 

Her desire to go to university herself had nothing to do with Killian, it truly didn’t. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, exactly, but her determination to attend had far more to do with her status as heir to the throne and wishing to be as prepared as she possibly could be when she became queen. 

“But your tutors have given you the best education you could have,” her mother pointed out. “You’ve studied the history and political structure of Misthaven and all its allies and enemies. You’ve read all our country’s great books and know the history of our art. You speak six languages. That’s far more knowledge than I had when I became queen. What else are you looking for?” 

“I want a chance to get to know the people I’m going to be ruling,” said Emma. “That’s one thing you had that I don’t. I’ve spent my whole life in the palace, and I know you kept me here for my own safety but I’m nineteen now and I want to _meet_ people. Real ones. Ones who don’t know I’m the princess.” 

“Emma—” 

“Just give me a year,” she pleaded. “Just a year to go to college and live like a normal student. I’ll wear a disguise and go by a different name, you can even plant guards around me if you must but please, _please_ just let me do this.” 

In the end her parents relented. Her mother, despite her tears at the new hair colour, had been unconvinced that the small changes Emma made to her appearance would be enough of a disguise, but Emma insisted they were plenty and her father backed her up. 

“Do you know why no one figured out Clark Kent was Superman?” Emma asked, as King David nodded approvingly behind her. “It wasn’t because putting on glasses was such an intricate disguise. It’s because the idea of _Superman_ working at a _newspaper_ was so completely absurd. No one saw a superhero in an ordinary reporter and no one’s going to see the princess of the realm in an ordinary literature major. People see what they expect to see.” 

And they had. All of them. All except Killian Jones. 

She really hadn’t reckoned on him. 

She settled in well to college life, though it was not the easiest transition going from her own suite of rooms in the palace to a tiny dorm shared with another student, a bright, chatty girl called Ruby. Ruby was easygoing and outgoing and _always going_. She loved to party and whenever she went out tried to coax Emma along as well, and though Emma really had gone to college with the intent to study, she reasoned that her main aim in being there was to get to know her people, and what better way to do that than at a party? 

Which is how she found herself two weeks into her first semester standing in the living room of a run-down student house, sipping valiantly at some locally-brewed ale and trying to remember the names of all the people Ruby introduced her to, _and_ trying to remember that when they said ‘Anna,’ they were talking to her. 

She was chatting with a boy called Walsh who had a supercilious smile and, she soon realised, a _very_ high opinion of himself, when her flagging attention was caught by shrieks of laughter coming from the other side of the room. She glanced over in search of their source then immediately looked again, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head. 

There across the room, surrounded by a largish group of people—one of whom, Emma noted, was Ruby—stood Killian Jones. It was him, she was sure of it, sure that she would recognise him anywhere, but oh, the changes time had wrought on the boy she’d known. She wasn’t sure if he really was any taller but he _looked_ it, standing straight with his shoulders squared. There was stubble on his jaw and hair on his chest, clearly displayed by the undone buttons of his henley, and his eyes—so much brighter when not hidden behind thick glasses—twinkled as he delivered a quip that had everyone around him exploding in fresh peals of mirth. 

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, staring so hard she could see the exact moment he sensed her gaze and turned, his own eyes widening immediately in recognition. Of course he recognised her, Emma thought, he _would_ ; however older and cooler and hotter he might be now he was still the smartest boy she’d ever met and Superman’s disguise could not fool him. 

He stared at her for the longest moment of her life and then he winked—the worst excuse for a wink she’d ever seen—and turned his attention back to his crowd. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to blow her cover. 

She realised with a start that Walsh had kept on talking this whole time and she hadn’t heard a word he said. He seemed to realise that too, finally, and scowled at her. 

“Hey,” he said. “Earth to Anna.” 

“Sorry.” She offered a polite smile. “My mind wandered.” 

“Well, wander it back over here,” he said. “I was telling you all about my Reddit subgroup I started, and you weren’t even _listening_.” 

“Sorry,” she repeated. “Though actually, would you excuse me, I—” 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” he snapped, his scowl darkening. “I bring you a drink, come all the way over here to talk to you. All I ask in return is a little bit of attention and you can’t even give me that.”

“I—”

“I’m a nice guy, you know,” he continued, moving closer. “I’d treat you right. Don’t think I didn’t see who you were looking at just now. If you think those guys would treat you better than I—” 

“Look, Welsh—” Emma interrupted, bristling at his presumption and his tone. 

“It’s _Walsh_.” 

“Yes, sorry, _Walsh_. Um, I don’t know what you think this is, but we only just met. We’ve been talking for ten minutes and it’s basically been you monologuing about Reddit the whole time. If you’re really looking to connect with people it might be better to ask them something about themselves instead of dominating the conversation.” 

“Oh, right, because it’s all about _you_ , isn’t it?” 

“That’s not what I—” 

“You’re not even that pretty, you know,” he sneered. “Glasses are really unattractive on a woman.” 

Emma began to sputter with indignation. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way before and she was outraged to learn that there were men in her realm who felt that it was acceptable to insult women as long as they weren’t royalty, apparently. Walsh smirked as she struggled to find words vile enough to express her opinion of him, and then a deep voice spoke from just over her shoulder. 

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs glasses, mate, if that’s what you really think.” 

Emma didn’t even need the butterflies leaping up in her belly to know that the voice was Killian’s. Her heart began to pound in time to the butterflies’ dance as she turned to find him standing just behind her, glowering darkly at Walsh. “I’m certain the lady told you she’s not interested, so why don’t you bugger off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?” he snarled. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” blustered Walsh.

“And yet I just did.” 

“Who the _hell_ do you think you are—” 

“He’s my boyfriend.” Emma jumped in before the scene could escalate, blurting the first thing that popped into her head. Walsh gaped at her, so astounded that he failed to notice Killian’s own slack jaw and bugging eyes. Killian recovered quickly, however, and casually looped an arm around Emma’s shoulders. 

“Aye,” he said. “I am.” 

Emma slipped her own arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder and doing her best not to faint. He was surprisingly sturdy and he smelled _so_ good. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and just _breathe_. 

“So stop trying it on with my girlfriend and piss off,” he said, tightening his arm to tuck her more securely against his side while also managing to loom over Walsh through the sheer force of his personality, despite them being more or less of a height. 

Walsh glared at Killian and then at Emma and then back to Killian again, and when neither of them budged he reached out and snatched the cup of ale from Emma’s hand. 

“I’ll be taking that back, then,” he huffed, and marched away. 

“Thank goodness,” said Emma. “It was _not_ pleasant.” 

“Dwarf ale,” remarked Killian. “Not for the faint of stomach.” 

Emma chuckled and looked up at him, into those bright blue eyes that had never faded from her memory. He grinned back at her, a grin with an edge it hadn’t had three years ago, and she caught her breath. 

“Killian—” she began, then his eyes went wide with horror and his ears flushed bright pink. He pulled his arm away so quickly she stumbled and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Em—er, Your High—” 

“Shhhh,” hissed Emma, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a quiet corner. “Careful or you’ll blow my cover. My name’s Anna now. Anna Swan.” 

His tense expression relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “Swan, hmm? Interesting choice.” 

“Yeah, it’s a—well, it’s a story. Kind of a long one.” 

He smiled, the eager, interested smile she remembered so well. “I have time. If you’d care to tell it?” 

He got her a drink, a sweet, fizzy one this time laced with just a few drops from his cup of Glowerhaven rum. They stood close together in the darkened corner and he listened intently as she told him about her childhood fondness for the palace swans, their elegant beauty and terrible manners, and how she’d loved reading the tales of the Swan Princess and the fable of the Ugly Duckling, and how her father had taken to calling her his little duckling after she’d demanded he read her that story at bedtime for three months straight. 

“So it just seemed appropriate,” she said with a shrug. “Meaningful, but also it doesn’t give anyone a clue as to who I am.” 

“And it suits you,” said Killian. “Swan. Beautiful and fearsome, just like you.” 

“I’m not fearsome!” she protested, scowling to cover the blush that heated her cheeks when he called her beautiful. 

“Aren’t you?” he asked earnestly. “You terrify me.” 

“I do? I don’t wish to.” 

“I’m sure it’s unintentional,” he said softly. “And more to do with me being timid.” 

“You’re not timid,” she scoffed. 

“Much less so than I used to be. And yet—” he took her hand and held it to his chest, just above his pounding heart. “You see?”

Emma gulped and her mouth went dry. His chest was firm and the hair on it rough beneath the fabric of his shirt, his hand covering hers so warm. 

“Mine’s the same, though,” she whispered, taking his other hand. With hers still on his chest she could feel his sharp inhale and his heart racing even faster when she laid his palm flat over her own frantic heartbeat. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Their eyes locked, his looking dazed and very dark, the colour high on his cheeks and his breaths audibly harsh. 

She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement, his fingers tightening around hers, his hand on her chest sliding up to curl around her neck. He leaned his head down and she tipped her chin up and their lips were barely a breath apart when a crash and a shriek sounded from the kitchen and they both jumped. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, swearing viciously under his breath as he released her hand and neck and stepped away. 

“It sounds like things are winding down here,” he said gruffly. “When glassware starts to shatter, that’s your cue to leave. Bit of advice.” 

Disappointment tasted bitter, Emma realised. Bitter and crushing and achy and she _hated_ it. She never wished to feel it again. She nodded in response, unable to speak. 

They stood silently for a minute, then Killian sighed. “So, um, may I see you home?” he asked, rubbing at his neck again. 

She smiled despite herself. “We’re not at court, Killian.” 

“Perhaps not, but I’d still like to walk you back.” 

“Yeah.” Her smile came more easily with the next attempt. “I’d like that too.” 

He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked the short distance to her dorm, but she was acutely aware of him and how near he was and the faint heat she could still feel from his body. When they reached her building he turned to her and smiled. 

“Well, Swan, I hope it won’t be another three years until I see you again,” he said. 

“It’s a small campus and I’m here until next summer, so I’d guess probably not.” Not if she had anything to say about it, she thought. 

“You’re only staying for a year?” he asked. 

“It’s all my parents would permit.” 

“Ah. I’ve only this year remaining as well, actually, until I graduate.” 

“Graduate? But—in three years?” 

He shrugged. “I’ve worked hard.” 

It was more than that, Emma knew. He was clever and ambitious and determined to make something of himself. To change the world, just as his brother had predicted. She didn’t know the precise circumstances of the Joneses’ life before they found refuge in Misthaven, but from the few hints Commander—now Captain—Jones had dropped they hadn’t had the easiest of beginnings. That they had already made such a success of themselves was deeply impressive, and Emma suspected they were only just getting started. 

“Do you—have far to walk to get home?” she asked, a bit wistfully. It was late and she was tired but she didn’t want Killian to go. She wasn’t ready for their time together to end. 

“Just to the other side of campus,” he replied. “I’m here on a military training scholarship so I live with the other cadets. When I graduate I’ll join the navy as a lieutenant.” 

“Like your brother.” 

“Aye,” he agreed. “Possibly even on his ship.” 

“That would be amazing.” 

“We think so.” 

They were standing close again, in a shadowy recess just to the side of the door, and Emma’s heart was pounding, not _again_ but more like _still_ ; it had barely rested since she’d laid eyes on Killian. He was looking at her with a gaze so intense she could swear she felt it caress her lips and _gods_ she wanted him to kiss her. If only she had paid more attention to the gossip among the ladies at court, or even to Ruby’s chatter the past two weeks, then she might have at least some idea of how to make that happen. How exactly did one go about letting a man know one wished to be kissed without actually saying ‘please kiss me’? Maybe she _should_ just say it? Or, as the princess, did she need to kiss him first? What was the protocol here? She was royalty damn it, she couldn’t do anything until she knew the _protocol._

Instead she just stared at him, feeling hot and itchy and increasingly desperate until he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, then stepped back. _Again._

“Well. I imagine I’ll see you around, then, Swan.” 

_Don’t go,_ Emma’s body screamed, even as her mouth said “I hope so.” 

He smiled and gave her a small nod, then headed off down the path away from her building, and from her. She watched him go, simmering with frustration. She should have just grabbed him, she thought, and protocol be damned. Grabbed him and kissed him, because damn it she was not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what that would feel like, and wishing she didn’t need to wonder. 

With an irritated huff she went to the door, taking her keys from her pocket and sorting through them in search of the correct one. She’d just managed to locate it when a warm hand took her by the elbow and tugged her back into the privacy of the shadows. 

“What the—” she exclaimed, and then Killian’s lips were on hers. The keys slipped from her fingers and fell unheeded to the ground as her knees went weak and she grasped at his shoulders for support. He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, his arm firm around her waist and his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her, soft and slow and deep and _gods_. 

Emma whimpered, clinging to him, yearning for things she couldn’t articulate. His hand flexed against her jaw at the sound and just for a moment he pulled her flush against him, insistent yet so gentle, like he wanted to consume her and also never let her go. Then, ever so softly, he broke the kiss. 

“Go out with me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking his thumb across her chin. 

“Hmmmm?” Emma struggled to think through the spinning in her head and the frantic thrum of her blood. “Go where?”

He chuckled. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.” 

“Like—a date?” 

“Aye, Swan, very much like a date. An actual date, in fact.” 

She blushed at the gentle teasing but the butterflies in her belly were performing an elaborate pas-de-deux and she felt like she could fly along with them. “I’d like that,” she said. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“All right. Um.” He cleared his throat and stood straight, though his hand remained on her cheek. “I’ll come by here to pick you up. About seven?” 

She nodded. “I’m in room 3017. You can call me on the intercom from down here.” 

“3017,” he repeated. He stepped back with a swagger in his hips this time, and bit his bottom lip in a way that made her want to drag him up to her room _now,_ no date required. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, and she smiled. 

“Tomorrow.” 

~

“And that’s how it happened.” Emma concludes. “More wine, Captain Jones?” She smiles at Liam who’s gaping at her, slack-jawed. Slowly he inclines his head and pushes his wine glass slightly forward on the table. The three of them are sitting in the small dining area of Emma and Killian’s apartments at the palace, sharing dinner as they fill Liam in on the story of their relationship. As Emma refills his wine glass, Liam turns to Killian and punches him squarely in the shoulder. 

“Oi!” Killian cries. “What was that for?” 

“I can’t believe you just kissed her like that!” Liam exclaims. “What were you _thinking?_ ” 

Killian shrugs. “I was thinking I wanted to kiss her.” 

“You can’t just up and kiss the princess!” Liam sputters. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell myself,” says Killian. “I walked away cursing who she was and reminding myself I had to treat her appropriately, and then I thought _but why?_ If she’d been the normal girl she was pretending to be, I’d have kissed her at the party. So I turned back and, well, you heard the rest.”

“I’m glad he did, too,” says Emma. “It saved me the trouble of hunting him down and kissing him myself. Didn’t help me sleep that night though.” She shoots Killian a saucy look which he returns in kind. 

“All right all right, bloody hell,” Liam grumbles. “Could you stop doing that, please?” 

“Doing what?” asks Emma innocently. 

“I’ve no idea what you mean, brother,” says Killian. 

Liam groans and lets his head fall into his hands. “Where’s that wine?” he says. 

~

When dinner is over Liam takes his leave, and Emma offers to walk with him as far as the door to the inner courtyard. They stroll slowly through the wide corridors and Liam waits, knowing she must have something she wishes to say. 

“I’m glad you finally know about us.” Emma glances up at him with a rather apologetic smile. “Killian’s been wanting to tell you for ages. He couldn’t say anything at first of course, because no one outside my family and our closest advisers knew I was at the university, but since we began living together he’s felt awful keeping it from you.” 

“I understand why he did, though,” Liam replies. “And I’m truly sorry he ever felt that he couldn’t confide in me.” They walk in silence for a few minutes. “Do, er—” he clears his throat. “Do your parents know?” 

“They do.” 

“And… how do they feel about it?” 

“They’re delighted,” says Emma gently, and Liam feels the tension in his shoulders recede. 

“Truly?” 

“Truly. It was a bit tricky at first, but they adore Killian and they’re happy I’ve chosen someone who will be a true partner to me when I take the throne. They know how essential that is.” 

They are approaching the doors to the courtyard, but Emma stops just inside them and turns to face him. “Liam,” she says. “May I call you that?” 

“Of course.” 

“Liam, I just want you to know that Killian—” Her voice breaks and she blinks rapidly, looking faintly embarrassed. “I—I just—I love him so much,” she chokes out as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “Oh, gods I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, lass.” Liam withdraws a crisp handkerchief from his uniform pocket and offers it to her. 

“Thank you.” She takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. “I’ve never found it easy to talk about my feelings,” she says once she’s calmer, “and the stronger they are the harder it is. But I need you to know that Killian’s heart is safe with me. As I know mine is with him.” 

Liam nods, his chest too tight for the words he wishes he could say. He contents himself with a simple “Thank you.” 

Emma smiles and gives him his handkerchief back, squeezing his hand as he takes it. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Brother.” 

—


End file.
